Wishful Thinking
by Perfect Mischief
Summary: "I love you," she whispered harshly, her eyes slits and her mouth unkind. Draco blinked. What had she just said? He could not believe this good fortune. So he didn't. "What did you say?" "I said, I. Hate. You. Is that slow enough for you, Malfoy?"


I love you.

These three simple words one Draco Malfoy had never heard before in his life. His father most certainly didn't; his mother, well, they hadn't had an intimate exchange of words since he was in the womb; and really, who else would have said it? In his younger days, Pansy Parkinson may have had an intense infatuation with him, may have even loved him at some point, but she had never spoken the words aloud. So by the time Draco had reached the delicate age of sixteen, he was craving these three words more than an addict to cigarettes. He just didn't know it yet.

When Draco himself fell in love with a girl during his school years, he subconsciously dreamed of her telling him the words. And sometimes, he even heard her say it to him.

"Watch it, Weasley. You have eyes; use them."

"Listen, Malfoy," said the girl he had been subtly following around for the past couple of weeks. "Don't you go around telling me what to 'watch' you prat! I was clearly walking here first and _you _should have seen _me_ coming before deciding it was a perfect time to test out your new trainers or whatever!" She gave him an irked huff and picked her books off the ground. She turned to go.

"Wait, Weasley!" She turned around, her face showing she was not amused. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?" she spat, her eyes narrowing.

"Don't you want to tell me what you were talking to Potter about?" He smirked, though his insides twisted as though a sailor had knotted them. What if it was something disgusting? What if he were asking her a on a date? What if she said yes?

"Nope. But there's something I want to tell _you_," she replied, her eyes icing over and her mouth a hard line.

"Oh? And what would that be?" Somewhere in his subconscious he desperately hoped she would suddenly proclaim her love for him, though the other part of his subconscious yelled at him for even caring what she thought about him.

"I love you," she whispered harshly, her eyes slits and her mouth unkind. Draco blinked. What had she just said? He could not believe this good fortune. So he didn't.

"What did you say?"

"I said, I. Hate. You. Is that slow enough for you, Malfoy?" She stomped away and inwardly he groaned. Of course she hadn't said what he'd thought. He rubbed his temples.

"I need to take a nap."

* * *

Now, Draco had always been quite a good-looking boy. But two nights without sleep was not exactly flattering on him. He sighed as he looked in the mirror. What girl could ever love that face, one with dark circles under his eyes and dried spit trailing from the corner of his mouth? Much less, the girl who he had loved for quite some time?

Quickly, he got dressed and slunk up to breakfast, not even bothering to wake up Blaise. He often complained about waking up, and waking him up at five thirty in the morning was not a very fun ordeal.

The Great Hall was empty, except for a couple kids who actually _liked _the morning. The toast tasted dry and thick in his mouth so he gave up on trying to eat and decided to go to the library to finish an essay he'd started the night before. The library too was empty and so he sat at a table, Madame Pince giving him a confused stare the whole time. He pulled out his parchment and began to scribble nonsense about some Wizarding war they'd probably discussed in class. Soon, he was fast asleep at the table.

"Hello? Helloooo?"

He jumped in his chair. "Wha...?" he said sleepily. The redhead standing behind him crouched down so she was at his head level.

"I just thought I should see whether you were dead or not," she said to him, before sitting in the chair beside his.

Draco woke up quite quickly, wiped his drool-y mouth on his hand and smoothed his hair. "Well, good morning to you, too, Weasley."

"Very funny, Malfoy. But it's past noon."

"Very funny, Weasley. It's- " he glanced at the watch his father had given him and rolled his eyes instead of finishing his sentence. "Anyways, are you sure that's the only reason you're here?"

"Well, I'm also here to get a book for Ancient Runes. But you know." She smiled that half-smile that made his head spin. He had to look away to reply.

"Of course." He smirked, and now it was time for _her _eyes to roll.

"And, okay. I was just here to say that I... I don't hate you. I just... love you."

Draco did a double take.

"What did you say?"

"I just dislike you. A lot. That's all. And you have bad hearing, too."

"Oh yes, my pride feels much better." He smirked again, but inwardly he still felt almost as bad as when she had told him she hated him. But he also loved her a great deal still, for she was that nice kind of person who would make amends of some sort, even to the guy who was supposed to be her enemy.

She patted his shoulder and left.

_Screw classes, I need another nap, _he thought as he watched her leave.

* * *

Can anybody explain love? Some would describe it as pain, some as passion, some as something that doesn't need to be explained, just felt. But that is beside the point, because really, how could someone so inexperienced in love as Draco know what it felt like?

And yet, there is always an exception.

If Draco knew you (as he very well might, for all anyone knows) he would have told you that to him, love was so confusing it made you feel several things at once. Though, of course, he wouldn't have identified it as love, and he most certainly wouldn't verbalize his thoughts to anyone.

Those were the thoughts he had pondered on that very morning, wondering how exactly he could express the feelings in his head. Well, that and, why the bloody hell was he feeling these things? And for a Weasley, of all people!

He walked into the owlery to send a letter to his mother. The eagle owl that he called his own hooted at the sight of him, and he quickly fastened the letter to it's leg. The smell of owl droppings and the sound of all the birds making noises were enough to repulse him, and he grimaced as he avoided stepping in a pile of droppings. He could only hope he didn't reek of the place as he left.

"Fancy seeing you here."

He looked to his left and saw the girl who had infected his mind sitting on a window seat, a notebook in hand. The sun crowned her head like some sort of halo, and her hair looked so soft, he had to heavily restrain himself not to touch it.

"And what would you be doing here?" he asked, curious. He hoped she couldn't hear the tentativeness in his voice.

"Writing, you pillock," she said in a perfectly calm voice. In fact, she almost sounded... cheerful to him? But he figured he must have been hearing things.

"Well, in that case... there's something I want to tell you."

"Oh really? Well, there's something I want to tell you first." She bit her lip for a moment as he raised an eyebrow. "I love you."

"Sorry, what?" he asked, getting more and more used to imagining this phrase.

"I love you, Draco."

Draco stared at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She looked like she was about to cry. What was he supposed to do? He could tell her how he felt. But that wasn't something he wanted to even think about. Because what if he had just imagined this a second time in a row? That could be possible. That was actually very logical, seeing as he had imagined it the first time. At least, he was pretty sure he had imagined it.

"Draco, I know you have bad hearing, but please. Say something. Please?"

But Draco was not one to follow the rules, go by the instructions. So instead, he sat next to her and kissed her.

And there was nothing imaginary about that.


End file.
